


because, darling, after all (you're mine)

by Star_on_a_Staff



Category: Fire Emblem Series, Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: #netteflixvalentines, Alternate Universe - Bar/Pub, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Bouncer!Felix, Drummer!Sylvain, Established Relationship, F/M, Fluff, Giftgiving, I wrote the song :3, Kissing, Lounge Singer!Annette, Pianist!Mercedes, Romance, Songfic, The worldbuilding in this fic is meh but the fluff is WHOA, Valentine's Day, but like, stage fright
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-13
Updated: 2021-02-13
Packaged: 2021-03-13 02:20:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,383
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29394681
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Star_on_a_Staff/pseuds/Star_on_a_Staff
Summary: “You sounded nice in practice, so you’ll sound nice tonight,” he says, which is the Felix equivalent of holding up a neon blinking sign that says “BEST LOUNGE SINGER IN THE WORLD” in letters made up of light bulbs pointing at her head.“That’s just practice,” Annette retorts in despair. She pales. “Oh, Goddess, what if I throw up ON STAGE.”In which lounge singer!Annette sings some songs and bouncer!Felix falls in love all over again. Annette/Felix in an established relationship and a dubiously modern AU. Written for the Felannie Valentine's Day Event.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic/Felix Hugo Fraldarius
Comments: 15
Kudos: 34
Collections: Nettefelix_Sweets and Treats_2021





	because, darling, after all (you're mine)

**Author's Note:**

> I thought I was burnt out on these two, but apparently the day they'll stop giving me serotonin is the day my heart stops beating. 
> 
> This was written for the Felannie Valentine's Day Event! I chose the prompt "love song"!
> 
> Please enjoy!

The jukebox is out of order again, which means that Annette is on lounge duty until Ashe can coax the life back into the ancient machine. 

She’s nervous, for sure, but Mercedes is on the piano and Sylvain has wheedled a pair of brush drumsticks from one of his ex-girlfriends, so they’re bound to come up with something nice for happy hour. In the meantime, she’ll attempt to drink herself into oblivion at the bar in an effort to drown the butterflies gathering in her stomach. 

Felix refuses to give her any alcohol, but he does buy her some fizzy sort of cherry drink that she swallows in one gulp, much to Dedue’s gentle disapproval from behind the bar. 

“You’re going to be fine,” Felix tells her as she wipes her mouth on the back of her hand. Her lipstick has smudged, and she’s broken like three different necklace clasps.

“I think I’m going to throw up,” Annette says faintly. 

“Not on the carpet!” Ingrid exclaims with alarm from where she’s setting the tables. 

“Breathe,” Felix suggests, and Annette does, big gulping breaths that make her sway into his chest. He lets her stay there, and she’s grateful as she listens to the steady _lub-dub_ of his heart. 

“You sounded nice in practice, so you’ll sound nice tonight,” he says, which is the Felix equivalent of holding up a neon blinking sign that says “BEST LOUNGE SINGER IN THE WORLD” in letters made up of light bulbs pointing at her head. 

“That’s just practice,” Annette retorts in despair. She pales. “Oh, Goddess, what if I throw up _on stage_.”

“Then we’ll be the talk of the streets,” Sylvain ribs from behind her. “Don’t stress it, ‘Nnette. If you do mess up, I’ll just take off my tie, unbutton my shirt a little and then all eyes will be off of you straight away.”

“This is a reputable establishment, you animal,” Felix snaps. Sylvain winks and slides off the bar stool in search of said tie. 

“Opening in an hour,” Ingrid reminds them archly from where she's on stage. She moves quickly, their Ingrid. Ashe pipes an affirmative from where he’s adjusting the spotlights, and Mercedes emerges from backstage, brandishing a pretty red cocktail dress like a sword. 

“ _Now_ I’m going to throw up,” Annette moans. 

O.O

Tonight’s crowd is average for a weekend, but Annette still gulps when she chances a peek from out of the curtains backstage. The tables are all full, and Ingrid and Ashe weave effortlessly through the crowd doling out drinks and little smiles in equal measure. 

“They’ll love you, Annie,” Mercedes says reassuringly from beside Annette’s shoulder. 

“You’re going to knock them dead,” Sylvain tweaks the cabernet-red flower in her hair and gets a swat from Mercedes for his troubles. 

“Thanks,” Annette tries to smile at them, but Dimitri is already dimming the lights and introducing her with descriptors like “golden-tongued” and “vivid” so she saves her most dazzling smile for when the curtains part and the spotlight finds her in its glare. 

A few whistles, more applause. Annette adjusts the ribbed microphone and smiles at the crowd as Mercedes and Sylvain settle behind their respective instruments. “How are we feeling tonight, folks?” 

The crowd answers with a few “great’s” and some subdued whoops, and Mercedes quickly runs a minor arpeggio up and down the keys. Her cue. 

Annette grips the microphone and inhales. At the far back of the bar, Felix’s shadow lurks in the corner of the room, ever on the lookout for troublemakers. 

The amber pinpricks of Felix’s eyes meet her through the too-bright colors of the crowd, and they soften in reassurance. 

Annette exhales, and Sylvain strikes up a beat on the drums. She clears her throat, and the crowd quiets as the lights dim to a seductive hum. 

“This first song’s for you, Blue Lion.”

O.O

“Look,” Ingrid lets the cascade of tips scatter over one of the tables, her eyes wide with delight. “We made some serious cash tonight, and it’s all thanks to you, Annette!”

“That’s not true,” Annette stammers as Ashe squeaks at the number of zeroes he’s found on a stray check. “It’s happy hour, and a holiday weekend, and--”

“Nope. Just face it, they loved you,” Sylvain disagrees as he begins sorting the money. “Thank the Goddess that piece of junk jukebox kicked the bucket when it did, because if we made this much dough every night—”

“Then we can afford to fix the jukebox and not let Ashe ruin his fingernails prying that thing apart,” Annette interrupts as Felix slides an arm around her and a glass into her hand. “Felix, tell them!”

“I told you that you’ll sound nice,” is all he will offer, and she glowers at him as Dedue pours her a celebratory martini with a placating smile. 

“To Annette, our songbird,” Dimitri toasts, “the best lounge singer of the city!” 

“Of the whole goddamn county,” Felix murmurs into her ear, and Annette blushes as red as her dress as the employees of the Blue Lion cheer loud enough to shake the floorboards. 

O.O

Annette sings for a couple more weeks, and Sylvain is right: their customers love her. With the money she’s able to draw in, they’re able to hire a tuner for Mercedes’ janky piano and repair the hole in the counter where Felix smashed that one guy’s head in that one time. The lights don’t flicker any more, which Ingrid complains takes away from the bar’s original charm, but at least Ashe doesn’t see spots when he’s trying to bus tables anymore. 

Of all the employees at the bar, Felix is the one who harbors the most pride in her achievement, though he doesn’t say it as loudly or as exuberantly as the others do. But whenever she’s on that rickety stage, she’ll find his eyes on her, quiet assurance radiating forth from his otherwise stoic expression. 

Damn, she really does love the bastard.

One evening, Annette comes down the stairs and reels to a stop at the sight of Ingrid draping the tables in deep-red cloth rather than the usual gold and blue. “What’s with the color change?”

“Haven’t you noticed?” Ingrid tucks a stray tuft of blonde back and jerks a thumb at the calendar tacked to the wall. “Valentine’s Day. Company policy dictates a change in aesthetic.”

Annette turns white. “ _It’s Valentine’s Day_?”

“Yes, it is!” Mercedes claps her hands together. “Everything’s going to look so lovely, and you’re not going to be an exception, Annie! Why don’t you wear something pink tonight?”

“I can’t wear pink!” Annette squeaks, still reeling. “They’ll see my freckles from across the street!”

“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Felix says, deadpan, from where he’s slinging his biker jacket across a coat rack in the corner. Annette makes an unholy noise as Mercedes giggles. Ingrid walks away with an armful of red cloth and a look of long-suffering forbearance. 

Annette’s reason for fluster is two-fold. One, she’s still not accustomed to Felix’s frank if not smug acknowledgements to their newly-formed relationship. Two, she’s completely forgotten that it was Valentine’s Day, and thus, has prepared him nothing. 

“I have no money, no time, and no anything,” a very panicked Annette hisses at Ashe in the privacy of the storerooms. “I’m the worst girlfriend in the history of the universe!”

“That’s not true,” Ashe says firmly. “Felix is mad for you, and has been for a long time! Something like this won’t change that, I’m sure!”

“I’ll hate myself for this,” Annette mumbles from behind a crate of champagne flutes. 

“He won’t.” Ashe shakes his head fervently. “And the night is still young; maybe you can come up with something before tonight.”

Annette watches Ashe’s dishrag flash in and out of glasses like a cat’s paw. The buzz of the fluorescent lights above them is equal parts irritation and lullaby, and just as she’s about to jump out of her skin from sheer panic, an idea bursts upon her like a divine revelation. Ashe nearly drops a cup as she shoots to her feet. 

“I’ve got it!” 

O.O

There’s a damask rose draped luxuriously over the lid of Mercedes’ piano. Sylvain’s tie is ostentatiously dramatic and scarlet as sin. Annette’s wearing pink, but a calmer, dusky shade that reminds Felix of a pre-dawn sky. 

As the crowd chats and sips red wine, Annette scoots over to Mercedes and whispers something in her ear, slipping her a bit of paper. The blonde-haired woman’s face registers surprise, and then her expression blooms into warm understanding as Annette squeezes her shoulder and rushes off to convey the same news to Sylvain. Sylvain grins and gives her a thumbs up, quipping something that makes her cheeks flame, but Annette hurries back to front stage as the lights dim and the crowd quiets. 

They’re packed tonight, the room conspicuously filled with couples, but they fall silently quickly as Annette clears her throat delicately into the mic. She’s gotten very good at this, Felix observes fondly. 

“Hello, everyone.” Annette smiles at the crowd, and like always, they beam back. “How’s everyone doing this evening?”

“ _Very_ good,” a roseate woman in the front of the crowd purrs as her arm tightens around her partner, who winks and replies, “damn straight.”

Annette and the crowd laughs. He can never get enough of the sound of her joy. 

“Um, well, I don’t usually sing a lot of love songs,” Annette nods at Mercedes, who strikes up a dreamy prelude to the beat of Sylvain’s cajon. “But tonight, I wrote one for someone I like very much.”

Annette’s eyes skim over the crowd and fix straight on him. Felix goes still as some heads turn, following her line of sight, and a collective “ooh” fills the air, soft and pleased. 

“This is for you, babe,” she says into the mic, and just as Felix feels his breath leave his lungs in an embarrassing _whoosh_ , Mercedes strikes a decisive chord, and Annette begins to sing. 

  
_Oh, Saints, won’t you help a woman in love_

_A hamstrung fool, an addict pinin’_

_The bright old Sun made sour on the tongue_

_Because, darling, after all, you’re mine_

The crowd is moving quietly to the rustle-bump of Sylvain’s drums, to the croon in Annette’s voice that Felix’s never heard from her before. When she smiles at him, he feels as if they’re alone in his apartment, curled on his ratty sofa as she sings him to sleep for the nth time all over again. 

_I love you, darling_

His heart stops. 

_Is it too much to say it out loud?_

_I love you, darling_

_I guess I’ve been feeling that a’way_

_I love you, darling_

Her eyes find his across the crowd, luminous in the low light.

_So why don’t we try our hand at this thing_

_This silly, splendid thing we have going_

_Because I’ve been feeling that a’way_

_Because, darling, after all, you’re mine_

The crowd sighs as her voice fades into a tender hum. The magic of the moment is soft and tender, and it’s left unbroken as those sitting at their tables break into hushed applause. Felix joins in quietly, stunned and absurdly happy in equal parts. 

The bar falls into a hum of noise. Annette blinks away something shiny out of her eyes. Sylvain’s pointedly tugging his tie loose, watching her with a mote of concern, but Mercedes strikes up something light and sweet, stirring the dreamy-eyed crowd into a flurry of excitement. 

Annette recovers swiftly, pulls the microphone in with a charming giggle that’s not very subtly aimed at him.

“Now, let’s slip into something more comfortable, shall we?” 

O.O

That night when Ingrid pours their earnings onto the table, even Dedue can’t help from murmuring in astonishment. Ashe has to be held upright. 

“Let’s take tomorrow off,” Dimitri declares as they all shrug on their coats, pockets heavy, smiles genuine. “You’ve earned it.”

Annette is jumpier than a junebug, as her mother would say, as the employees all say their goodnights and leave the bar one by one. Felix lingers beside her, his body language radiating anticipation, but Annette’s not sure what kind. Lights are flicked off, and Mercedes stumbles sleepily upstairs.

They’re alone among the tables, in the dim light from the windows.

“The song was for you,” she blurts as the door clicks shut after Ingrid. “I wrote it in like ten minutes, so it’s probably not very good—”

Felix pulls her in and kisses her. 

It’s a very nice kiss—Annette’s not wearing her usual heels, so she has to tiptoe to sling her arms around his neck as his arm curls around her waist. His other hand threads through her hair, the scrape of his rough nails sending the most delicious shiver through her entire body.

When they break for breath, Annette’s feeling lightheaded.“Oh—I guess that means you like it?”

“Don’t make me say it out loud,” Felix mumbles from the depths of her collarbone. “I’m already red enough as it is.”

Annette giggles, and then the amusement leaves her in a big breath as she jabs a finger into his chest. “So where’s my gift, mister?”

“It’s not as nice as yours,” Felix begins, but when she cocks an eyebrow at him, he relents and reaches into his pocket. “Turn around.”

“Do you want me to close my eyes too?” Annette quips, but quickly relents at the expression on his face. “Okay, okay.”

She turns around, and waits patiently as Felix fiddles with something. The whisper of paper crinkling fills the air. Annette sucks in a breath when he suddenly sweeps her hair to one side. His hands come around her neck, and something cold settles onto her skin.

“You kept breaking your necklaces when you first began to sing,” Felix says, embarrassed, as she gapes down at the winking ruby hanging from her neck. “It’s small, but--”

“I love it,” Annette breathes. “You’re amazing, do you know that?”

“It’s not a song,” Felix stammers, but she’s back on her tiptoes to silence his protests. 

He relaxes, once she’s coaxed the shyness from his mouth. _Ah, well_ , he thinks, as he pulls her close again, _there’s always next year_. 

.

.

.

fin

**Author's Note:**

> kiss kiss fall in looooove
> 
> Whoever figures out the cameo gets one headpat from moi
> 
> Come hang out with me on [my twitter](https://twitter.com/clairvoyancehsu)! I'd love to see you around :3


End file.
